I Hate the Library
by Jadea
Summary: Ron's thoughts on the Second Task
1. Default Chapter

Author: Jadea   
  


Disclaimer: The most valuable thing I own is my laptop. Obviously, I have no ownership whatsoever over any Harry Potter characters.   
  


Rating--err, Pg-13, just to be safe. A fic in 'Ron Voice' without swearing is not in 'Ron voice.'   
  


Summary: Ron's thoughts on the Second Task, and what it means to be the thing Harry miss most.   
  


**************************************   
  


I hate librarys.   
  


No. I mean I really, really, really hate libraries.   
  


All the rules. You have to be quiet, or else Madame Pince will spear you with her patented Glare Of Death. Not as bad as my mum's, but pretty damn good, all the same.   
  


You have to be clean. No food. No drinks. Oy, a man's got to eat sometime! I'm a growing boy here, and the entire Hogwarts staff--ok, except maybe the House Elves--are all just trying to starve us into submission!   
  


And don't even *think* about keeping a book over due. I did that *once* in the long ago, naive days of my first year. On Halloween, that was. Right before the Feast, and the troll.   
  


Huh. Facing the troll was easier then returning that bloody book. 

You'd think I'd nicked one of Madame Pince's babies, or something! Hagrid's got his blood sucking, stinging, biting, mauling little monsters, and Madame Pince's got her books, and Merlin himself protect the poor wizard who gets between them.   
  


After that, I just had Hedwig or Pig bring my overdue books to Madame Permenantly Pinched.   
  


I just don't understand how some people actually like the library! They enjoy it! They voluntarily spend time in this musty, dusty, cold corner of the school, and they do it completely of their own free will, without being under the influence of the "Imperius" charm, or something.   
  


'Moine.   
  


I will never, ever understand her. If I live to be as old as Dumbeldore himself, and I have a long, white beard that goes past my knees, I still won't have the slightest idea of what goes on in that head of hers.   
  


She loves the library. She's probably been in Know-It-All heaven these last few weeks; She, Harry and I have practically changed our addresses to this dirty old corner of the library.   
  


Every day, after class, we go to the library. After every meal, every class, every break. Mornings, afternoons, evenings. . .weekends! WEEKENDS! I spent all last weekend in the library!   
  


My God. I'm turning into Percy.   
  


So what have we got? Hours, days, weeks spent in the library. In the same hard wooden chairs, the same dim old dirty room. Hours spent leafing through book after book--books on charms, on animals, on spells and potions and magical creatures.   
  


And what have we got to show for it?   
  


Nothing. Absolutely bullocks.   
  


I swear. It doesn't exist. It just doesnt! Three people, including 'Moine, who can read faster then a hippogriff can fly, and we can't even find a bloody hint.   
  


The task's tomorrow, and we're still here, in the library. Moine's got her face about two inches away from the scrolls, she's so tired from reading--she looks like she's about to snog that dusty old tattered book. If it was Hogwarts: A History, she probably would.   
  


Hell, she probably already has.   
  


And Harry. . .   
  


What the hell is he doing?   
  


Oh.   
  


Merlin's sake, I'm sick of that rhyme.   
  


He's been wandering around, repeating it for days. He even mumbled some of it last night, in his sleep.   
  


"Come seek us where out voices sound 

We cannot sing above the ground. 

And while you're searching, ponder this. 

We've taken what you'll sorely miss. 

An hour's long you'll have to look, 

And to recover what we took, 

But past an hour, the prospects black, 

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."   
  


Right cheerful, that is. Trewlaney probably thought of it. And Harry's. . .   
  


Harry's getting a bit nervous.   
  


We all are. I mean, I wasn't any help with the First Task, but it seemed to me that it's even worse this time--because then he at least knew what was coming, and he had an idea what to do. But now, we've got nothing. All we know is that Harry has to go recover something that's really important to him, and that he has to survive underwater to do it.   
  


I've seen Harry swim before, at the pond at the Burrow. Trust me, unless we find a charm, whatever it is the merpeople are going to steal is going to be at the bottom of that lake for a long, long time. And Harry's still muttering that stupid rhyme to himself.   
  


Ugh. That's it. It's too bloody quiet.   
  


"I dont reckon it can be done. There's nothing. Nothing. Closest thing we saw was that what do you call it, that drought charm, and that was no where near powerful enough to drain the lake."   
  


Uh-oh. Moine just got that 'Don't tell me it can't be done' look in her eyes. I love that look--I mean, it's kind of annoying.   
  


Yeah.   
  


"There has to be a way! They wouldn't have given him a task that was impossible to do!"   
  


Oooh, her eyes are flashing! She sounds almost insulted about the whole thing--as if the Great, All Knowing Library has betrayed her.   
  


He shoots--he scores!   
  


Ok, so maybe arguing with Moine's not the most productive thing in the world. But, blimey, we've been in here for six hours, the lines of the chair are engraved in my bum, and if someone doesn't start doing something soon, I'm going to go nutters.   
  


Hell, Harry's half gone already.   
  


"They have! Harry, just go down to the lake tomorrow, right, stick your head in, yell at the merpeople to give back whatever they've nicked, and see if they chuck it out! Best you can do, mate!"   
  


Damn. Not even a smile. Harry's still got face buried in 'Saucy Tricks for Tricky Sorts.' Boy hasn't been smiling much lately. Eating or sleeping, either. Just wandering around, doing research, staring at the lake and repeating that creepy little rhyme to himself over and over again.   
  


He seems really hung up on the whole thing. . .more about losing the thing he'd sorely miss then messing up the second task. I'd be a bit more worried about making a prat of myself in front of the entire school, but then again, I don't really have anything I couldn't stand to lose, and Harry does. He's got a lot of cool stuff. Like his invisibility cloak. . .that was his dad's. It may be the only thing of his parent's that he really owns, and Merlin knows it's saved our skin a time or three--would they really take that? I mean, Harry needs that. I dunno what else they could take--well, there's the album Hagrid gave him, with all the pictures of his parents and such at their wedding. I know that album means a lot to him. . .before he got it, he didn't even really know what his parents looked like. Can you imagine that? Eleven years old, and he didn't know what his mum's smile looked like. . .   
  


Then, of course, there's the Firebolt. God, that's a sweet, sweet broom. They can't take a broom like that and just stick it at the bottom of the lake. That's sacrilege! It's robbery and theft and destruction of private property.   
  


God, I'd die to have a broom like that.   
  


Hmmm. Being an animagus would be really, really wizard. . .especially if you were unregistered, like Sirius. You could wander all over the grounds at night, with no Filch to stop you and hand out detentions like candy. Hey, if I turned into a dog, I could chase Ms. Norris all over campus. . . 

None of that would help Harry, though.   
  


Yes, thank you 'Moine. I really, truly needed that in-depth recitation of the rules and regulations of becoming an animagus. Honestly, it drives me crazy sometimes how she doesnt even talk, she just expels these lectures and obscure facts for minutes at a time, sounding like she just swallowed a book.   
  


Even if it is kinda cool.   
  


Heh. 'Book' was probably her first word.   
  


Finally! Finally, 'Moine has voluntarily shut a book. And I can't believe my ears! She just criticized studying!   
  


I wish I had Colin Creevy's camera right now.   
  


". . .who would want to make their nose hair grow in ringlets?"   
  


I dunno. Pansy Parkinson, maybe. Millicent Bulstrode. Anything to cover up their ugly mugs. . .   
  


Hmph. 'A talking point' indeed. Right clever of you Fred, that was.   
  


Mine was better.   
  


"What are you two doing here?"   
  


They can't be here to help. Fred and George are useless at researching, even worse then I am.   
  


"McGonnagal wants to see you, Ron. You too, Hermoine."   
  


Oh, BLOODY HELL!   
  


Great. Just bloody wonderful. Detention, here I come.   
  


I can hear her now:   
  


"Helping Mr. Potter prepare for the second task. . .supposed to do it alone. . .very dissapointed in both of you . . .blah blah blah. . .blah blah blah."   
  


Hmph. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of. . .giving us a detention for *researching* Ok, granted, we weren't supposed to be researching, but still. . .   
  


Fine. Another evening of cleaning out bedpans, or sweeping the dungeon, or walking Hagrid's skrewts, or whatever stuff the teachers can dream up to torture us. I swear, they probably have a 

"Humiliating and Painful Detention Suggestion Box" in the teachers lounge, and sit around reading the suggestions for kicks.   
  


Poor 'Moine. She's not as used to getting scolded by McGonnagal as Harry and I are. . .her brown eyes are wide, and she's biting her bottom lip. Kinda cute, that is. . .   
  


I did not just think that.   
  


No. That's not cute. Not at all. Absolutely nothing 'Moine ever does is cute. Ever.   
  


Harry's even worse. I don't think I've ever seen him this tense, this on edge. I hope this doesn't take too long. We still have to help Harry find something.   
  


We will find something. We have to.   
  


Hmmm. 'Moine still hasn't lost that "Hippogriff in the Headlight" look. Having one best friend walk around like a zombie is bad enough. Two is more then I can handle.   
  


Fred's not exactly helping, the git.   
  


"Now, now, you two. . .I must say I am shocked, absolutely shocked, to have to take you to McGonagalls for what will probably be a very strict admonition. Especially you, Ron. We Weasley's have a reputation to maintain, and you getting frequent detentions will only tarnish the sterling image George and I have worked to maintain."   
  


"Sod off, Fred."   
  


"Now now, Ronnekins. . ."   
  


Sterling image, my--   
  


"What do you think they're going to take?"   
  


What the bloody hell is she talking about?   
  


"Huh?"   
  


Oooh, brilliant reply, Weasley. You should frame that one.   
  


That just earned me one of her patented " I know you know what I'm talking about" looks. How do women do that? Is it something mother's do; pull aside their daughters and teach them how to make men feel like prats?   
  


"Harry, Ron. You know him better then anyone else in the world. What do you think they are going to take, to put in the bottom of the lake?"   
  


"I'm not sure. Why?"   
  


Her eyes just flashed over to Fred and George to make sure they're not eavesdropping. No fear, the Gruesome Twosome are walking ahead of us, deep in a discussion of their own.   
  


Hmmm. Brow furrowed, hands clenched. She keeps tugging on one of her chesnut curls, it keeps springing back from her fingers. Whatever this is, it's serious.   
  


"Because I'm not sure that, if they take it, he'll get it back."   
  


Damn.   
  


Harry doesn't have a whole lot of stuff, but the stuff he does have, he get's really, really attatched to. I can't imagine him losing his cloak or his album. And he really, really loves that Firebolt. . .   
  


Oh, hell.   
  


"Moine. . .what if we're not going to get a dentention?"   
  


"What on earth are you talking about, Ron?"   
  


"McGonnagal called us to her office, right? That doesn't neccassarily mean she's going to give us a detention." She opens her mouth, no doubt to protest, but I shush her. "The egg says that the merpeople are going to take what the champions will sorely miss. What the hell do the merpeople know about the champions?" Cool, I swore, and she didn't even notice. "What if they want us to tell them what the thing Harry would miss most is? You said it yourself; we're the people in the world who know him best."   
  


God, I'm good.   
  


'Moine's giving me that look, the one she gives me every time I completely bluff her at chess--that wide eyed, assessing look. As if I've done something that just floored her.   
  


"Or maybe. . .maybe it's even worse. Maybe they want us take the think Harry would miss most! Maybe they want me to nick the Invisibility cloak, and give it to the merpeople!"   
  


God, I don't want to do that. No way, no how. That's what's I'm telling McGonnagal. I don't take my best friend's stuff and hand it over to a bunch of slugs, or something.   
  


"'Moine. . .I think--I think that if McGonnagal asks us what the thing Harry would miss most is, we should tell her it's the Firebolt."   
  


"IS that what he would sorely miss?"   
  


She's a sharp one, she is. She's staring at me intently now, completely focused on me. Funny, I never noticed those little flecks of gold in her eyes before.   
  


Oh, hell. Am I blushing?   
  


"Err. . .no. Not really. I think. . .I'm not sure, but I think that the thing Harry would miss is his cloak. 'Cause it was his dad's, and all."   
  


"Ron, that would be lying, to tell them that Harry would miss Firebolt when it would really be his cloak. . ."   
  


"Look, I'm not sure, all right? I can't read his mind! But we both know that whatever the merpeople are going to take is going to stay at the bottom of the lake, cause we both know that Harry hasn't found anything, and his chances of finding and mastering something this late are pretty darn slim. But we can't take that cloak! It's all Harry's got of his dad, and you can replace a Firebolt, but you cant give him back that cloak--"   
  


"You're right, Ron."   
  


Holy flaming hell.   
  


Did Hermoine just admit I was right?   
  


"Wait a second, hang on. I think I hear the sound of hell freezing over."   
  


Ah. There's the look I know and lo--   
  


Know.   
  


The look I KNOW.   
  


Period.   
  


Damn. She's looking at me like that again. Like I'm this equation, this problem she just cannot figure out.   
  


Kinda cool, actually. Ron Weasley: intruiging, inscrutable. Man of mystery. . .   
  


Oh, joy, we've reached McGonnagals. Time to enter the dragon's lair.   
  


"Thank you, Mr Weasley and Mr. Weasley. I do not require your assistance further. You may return to your endeavors, as long as they are rule abiding and non-lethal."   
  


Oy. Just call them the twins. Everyone else does.   
  


Darn. They're right. McGonnagal does look grim. I've never been in here before. Her whole office just smacks of. . .authority.   
  


I don't like it.   
  


A bit crowded, though. Especially with those four cots in the corner, under the window. . .   
  


Cots? In her office?   
  


Why on earth would Professor McGonnagal need something to sleep on in her office?   
  


Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.   
  


Nasty, nasty mental image. Yuck. Wish I knew how to 'obliviate' myself.   
  


Hmmm. . .Cho Chang's here, bet Harry wishes he was. What's she doing in the head of Gryffindor's office? She's a Ravenclaw. Some little girl, sleeping on one of the cots.   
  


Wow. That little girls' got really pretty hair. It's long and golden, and even though the office is really dim, it's shining. It's the exact same shade as. ..   
  


Oh, hell.   
  


Fleur's.   
  


What's going on?   
  


I just nudged 'Moine and asked her, but she's just as confused as I am. Cool. I should write this moment down in Hogwarts: A History. Hermoine Granger, perfect student, unable to--   
  


Dumbeldore! What's he doing here?   
  


Damn.   
  


I knew this was serious.   
  


I don't care what they say. I'm not taking my best friend's stuff and giving it to a bunch of mucked up fish so they can stick it in the bottom of a lake and leave it to rot. I won't do it, I wont do it. . .   
  


Eh? What's he saying?   
  


". . .You have each been chosen as the thing the champions would miss most."   
  


I. . .can't breathe.   
  


I don't want to.   
  


When in the hell did this happen?   
  


Why didn't he tell me?   
  


I don't want to look at 'Moine, but my eyes are being pulled there, against my will. Her hands are covering her mouth, eyes wide open in shock. Her hair is tumbling over her shoulders in these really wild curls. . .   
  


I thought it was going to be the Invisibility Cloak.   
  


Or the Firebolt.   
  


Never, never did I imagine that the thing Harry would miss most in the world would be--   
  


Hermoine.   
  


So now, instead of the invisibility cloak, or the Firebolt, I'm supposed to hand over my best friend, and then go back to Harry like everything's cool?   
  


"So what in the hell am I supposed to tell Harry?"   
  


Umm.. . .Oops. I just interrupted Dumbeldore. And swore in front of McGonnagal. Mum would send me a howler, if she knew.   
  


"Excuse me, Mr. Weasley?"   
  


Oh, great. Everyone's staring at me now. Is it just me, or is it getting hotter in here? 

Damn. I'm blushing again.   
  


Lousy Weasley ears.   
  


"Err. . .well, I mean, Harry's going to wonder where Hermoine went, when I go back to the library tonight. . .and I can't tell him Hermoine's his hostage. . .can I?"   
  


Damn it. They're still staring at me.   
  


Did I miss something?   
  


"Mr. Weasley--"   
  


"Ron, you prat! I'm not Harry's hostage--YOU ARE!!"   
  


That's--that's impossible.   
  


Why on earth would *I* be the thing Harry would miss most in the world?   
  


I'm not brilliant, like Hermoine. She should be the thing he'd miss most in the world. She's brilliant, and fiery, and she gets this glint in her eyes when we're spatting. . .   
  


Besides, Harry and I got in that *stupid* fight earlier this year. . .which was my fault. . .   
  


For some ridiculous reason, everyone's grinning. Everyone except 'Moine, she's got that "I'm going to pound some sense into you" death glare in her eyes.   
  


She can't be right.   
  


She *can't* be.   
  


My mind is reeling. Me. . .the thing Harry'd miss most? More then anything else? More then his Firebolt, his invisibility cloak? More then Hermoine, or Sirius, or Hagrid?   
  


Wow.   
  


Just. . .wow.   
  


But if I'm Harry's hostage--then why is Hermoine here?   
  


"Ms. Granger is, as usual, correct. You, Mr. Weasley, are Mr. Potter's hostage. Ms. Chang is Cedric Diggory's, Fleur Delacour's sister, Gabrielle, has already accepted and been enchanted. Ms. Granger is Viktor Krum's hostage."   
  


That--That Bulgarian MORON? That complete, idiotic PRAT who can't even pronounce her name correctly?   
  
  
  


"How do you. . .well, how do you know? What it is the champions will miss most, I mean?"   
  


Well, thank Merlin everyone stopped gaping at me. They're looking at Dumbeldore, now. Curious. I am too. How are they sure--   
  


"A special truth charm was built into the egg each champion collected at the end of the First Task. The first time the egg was opened and the champion deciphered the clue, the charm determined who it was the individual champion would miss most."   
  


Dear, Sweet Merlin.   
  


A truth charm?   
  


A real, honest to God, *truth charm*?   
  


Harry named me under a truth charm?   
  


I *am* the most important thing in the world to Harry.   
  


I can't stop grinning. I can't. I tried, but I can't--not even the fact that that Bulgarian half-wit chose Hermoine can make me stop.   
  


This is better then beating Hermoine at chess. Better then winning at Quidditch, or even taking the House Cup our first year.   
  


Dumbeldore's talking, but darned if I can really hear him.   
  


"NO!"   
  


Blimey, 'Moine. ..you just about gave me a heart attack!   
  


What's she on about?   
  


"Ms. Granger!"   
  


"Ron. . .Ron can't go into the lake, even if he is Harry's hostage!"   
  


Oh, no.   
  


Hermoine's slipped into 'panic mode.' This is the only time Hermoine forgets herself, forgets what she's doing, what she's saying.   
  


"You can't put Ron in the lake, because Harry doesn't know how to survive underwater yet! We've been trying to help him for weeks, and--"   
  


Damn.   
  


Damn. Damn. Damn.   
  


She just froze. Yup, there go the hands, clutching her mouth again.   
  


'Moine, when will you *ever* learn to think before you speak?   
  


Looks like I get to experience the joys of detention after all.   
  


Thanks heaps, 'Moine.   
  


Wha--Is Dumbeldore *chuckling*?   
  


"I will, of course, disregard the last part of your sentence, Ms. Granger."   
  


Crazy old man. He's done it again. Completely floored Hermoine. She's sitting her chair, cheeks scarlet.   
  


Heh. She looks like a Weasley.   
  


"As to your concern--it does you credit, but I assure you, neither Mr. Weasley nor any of the rest of you are in any danger. If you give your consent to participate as a hostage in the task, I will place each of you under charmed sleep, and you will remain asleep until you are taken out of the lake.   
  


"But. . .what about the rhyme? 'But past an hour, the prospect's black--too late, it's gone, it won't come back?'"   
  


"Yes. Our esteemed Divination teacher, Professor Trewlaney came up with that."   
  


I knew it. I *KNEW* it! Mordid old bat.   
  


"We had to make sure the champions returned with in a specific time limit. It is a bit--misleading--but we believe it's the best way to spur the competition.   
  


That's. . .that's kinda mean. To make them believe they could lose us, permenantly. . .   
  


But surely--I mean, Harry won't fall for it. A broomstick or even an invisibility cloak is one thing, but Harry'd know that Dumbeldore wouldn't let us *die*   
  


Wouldn't he? 

Oh, Hell.   
  


Poor Harry. I guess this means 'Moine and I won't be coming back to the library to help him. I don't know how he's ever going to find anything. Imagine him tomorrow, in front of everybody, and he won't know what to do.   
  


He can still do it. He'll find something, even without 'Moine and me.   
  


If there's a way, he'll find it.   
  


Great, more questions. Dumbeldore's talking to Cho Chang, 'Moine's pestering McGonnagal about the charm they used on the egg.   
  


I can't even think anymore. What a night, eh?   
  


Hours in the library. . .thinking we were gonna get detention. . .thinking they were going steal Harry's stuff, thinking Hermoine was the thing Harry'd miss most. . .   
  


Finding out it was me.   
  


Oy, what a night.   
  


Enchanted sleep might be nice. Yeah, sure, I'll do it. Kinda neat to participate in the Second Task. To be a part of the tournament.   
  


If I don't stop yawning, my face is going to split at the ears.   
  


Hmmm. 'Moine's already lying down on the cot under the window. She looks kinda cute when she's sleeping, face all relaxed and smooth.   
  


I did not just think that.   
  


God, I'm tired.   
  


I just hope Harry's going to be ok, that he won't go barking mad when he hears what's going on.   
  


Hey, there's another good thing about this.   
  


I don't have to go back to the library.   
  


******************************************** 

The end.   
  
  
  


Hee Hee. I work in a library, so I loved writing the first part of this fic. Actually, I love library's, but I dont think they're Ron's cup of tea.   
  


Feedback will be appreciated: it helps justify my obsession. (Maybe that's not a good thing.)   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Swimming in February

Author: Jadea   
  


Chapter 2: I Hate the Library   
  


************************************   
  


Oh, God. What *now*?   
  


You know, I'm getting a bit sick of losing consciousness in one place and waking up in a completely different place. Usually the hospital wing.   
  


I can't see. My visions all blurry for some reason--   
  


There. Now at least I can see the. . .   
  


Sky?   
  


Lake?   
  


Ooookaaayyyy. Definitely not the hospital wing.   
  


Err. . .why am I all wet?   
  


You know, I bet normal people don't suddenly wake and find themselves swimming in the middle of a cold lake in the middle of February.   
  


Then again, normal people don't have Harry Potter for a best friend.   
  


There he is. Heh. At least he's as wet as I am. Soaked actually. His black hair's all pasted to his forehead and glasses, poor boy can't see a thing.   
  


OY! Harry, will you let go of my robes! A man's got to breathe, you know!   
  


Oooh, smooth, Weasley. Trying to talk with a mouthful of lakewater. Drowning *after* you've been rescuedfrom the lake. That'd be impressive, that would.   
  


Bleah. Stuff tastes terrible. Probably got some Giant Squid urine in it, or something.   
  


Ewwwwwwwwwwwww.   
  


Aaaah! There he goes again! Harry, I'm conscious you prat, but I won't be much longer if you keep trying to strangle me with my own robes!   
  


Boy, he looks knackered.   
  


"Wet, this, isn't it?"   
  


Well, thank Merlin. At leasts he knows I'm conscious.   
  


Why's everyone making such a racket?   
  


He's *still* clutching the neck of my robes in a death grip. We're both just treading water, and he's got his other arm around--   
  


Fleur's sister?   
  


"What did you bring her for?"   
  


Ummm, Harry, maybe you didn't catch on to this, but you only get to retrieve *one* hostage.   
  


Whoa. He looks *beyond* knackered. The boy needs some rest.   
  


Breathe, Harry. Breathe. It doesn't make a good impression on the judges if the hostage saves the champion.   
  


And I am *not* doing mouth to mouth on you.   
  


You're my best mate, but. . .   
  


No.   
  


"Fleur didn't turn up, I couldn't leave her."   
  


You. . .You PRAT!   
  


We worked for *weeks* in the library--hunting for something, anything that could help with the task--and evidently you found something, you must have--and then you just chuck it all away? Do you know how many points you lost?   
  


You honestly thought that Dumbeldore would let a hostage *die*?   
  


Harry, you are a git.   
  


"Harry, you prat, you didn't take that song seriuosly, did you? Dumbeldore wouldn't have let any of us drown!"   
  


Fleur's sister isn't moving. Just watching us argue, eyes wide. Probably doesn't understand a word we're saying. Hmmm. I just got this sudden urge to adopt this completely fake accent and start waving my arms wildly.   
  


Maybe later.   
  


"The song said--"   
  


"It was only to make sure you got back inside the time limit! I hope you didn't waste time down there acting the hero!"   
  


Ummmm. . .oops.   
  


Maybe I should have been a bit more, well, nice about it. I mean, sure, he acted about as thick as Crabbe and Goyle, but. . .   
  


He did rescue me. I mean, I was going to be Ok either way, but he's been through a tough stretch here, and. . .   
  


I *am* the thing he'd miss most.   
  


Whoa.   
  


I'd almost forgotten that. Waking up in a freezing cold lake tends to occupy your thoughts for a bit.   
  


Damn. Harry looks a bit miffed at me. Smooth, Weasley. Next time I think of something smart to say, I'll just bite my tounge.   
  


"C'mon, help me with her, I don't think she can swim very well."   
  


Ow. Stupid tongue.   
  


It was such a good one, too.   
  


Boy, we *are* out in the middle of the lake. Never really realized how big this thing is when you're going over it in the boats. Never realized how cold it is, either, but then, I've never swum in it in February.   
  


Hmph. Wonder why.   
  


Ah. There's Dumbeldore, and Bagman. Karakoff looks like someone just canceled his birthday party, scrowling and grumbling. Probably wanted Harry to drown, just so his Bulgarian Bozo could win the tournament. Yellow toothed little scum, he looks just like--   
  


PERCY!   
  


What the hell is *Percy* doing here?   
  


And what the hell are those merpeople *doing*? Trying to make everyone *want* to drown themselves, so we don't have to listen to them screech?   
  


Hmmm, there's Cho and Cedric. A rampaging hippogriff could charge them right now, and they wouldn't notice. Staring in each others eyes. Poor Harry.   
  


He doesn't seem to notice, though. Still helping me tow Fleur's sister to the lake. Fleur. . .   
  


Whoa.   
  


This is the *best* day of my life.   
  


She's soaked. Completely, totally drenched.   
  


She's wearing these light blue robes, and they're like, glued to her.   
  


This was *so* worth it.   
  


Oooh, she's got this little hole in her robe right above her knee, and if I tilt my head this way, I can see--   
  


PERCY!   
  


What in the bloody hell is he *doing*?   
  


Wading into the lake? He's wearing his brand-spanking new dress robes he was so proud of, and he's ruining them!   
  


Looks awfully pale, too. Maybe he just saw Hagrid and Madame Maxine snog, or something.   
  


Ewwwwwwwwwwww.   
  


Percy, what in the hell--   
  


Oh, no. Let go of me, you prat!   
  


Hey, stop! I'm supposed to help Harry take Fleur's sister to her!   
  


Ow. Boy, thanks, Perce. I just got a right good faceful of water with that one. Next time you decide to yank me out of the lake, make sure you actually get a grip on my arm.   
  


Oops. Sorry, Harry.   
  


God, what did I do? How could I do anything, unconscious in a lake?   
  


Great. Just great. I've been conscious for less then five minutes and I'm already going to get a scolding.   
  


That *must* be some sort of record.   
  


No, wait. Fred and George.   
  


Not even close.   
  


Oy, Percy. *Let go of me!* You're worse then Hermoine when she get's scared. . .Clench my arm any harder, and I think the bloody thing's going to fall off.   
  


"Geroff, Percy, I'm all right!"   
  


Whoa.   
  


That was a look worthy of Mum.   
  


What's his problem, anyway? He never acts like this. Perfect Percy, losing his cool in front of. . .   
  


Bloody HELL.   
  


How many people are watching us?   
  


Thousands.   
  


My God.   
  


This is so bloody embarassing.   
  


No. *No* Don't you dare, Percy. Don't you dare, or I'll tell Penelope about the time Fred and George hexed you and made you say everything in limericks--   
  


Damn.   
  


God. I can't breathe.   
  


Again.   
  


I just got enchanted, held hostage by some giant fish, and dragged out of a freezing cold lake. And now thousands of people are watching my brother treat me like a bloody first year.   
  


He's hugging me. *Hugging* me.   
  


And I thought *Harry* had a death grip.   
  


He's all stiff, and trembling.   
  


I'm almost as tall as he is, now, but he's still gathering me in, clutching tightly. One arm around my shoulders, the other hand on my head, my wet hair against his cheek.   
  


Percy never acts like this. Never.   
  


Wow. He must have been really worried.   
  


I didn't mean to worry him. I didn't even think about it. Nice to know he cares, though.   
  


Good, he's calming down. Stopped shaking, anyway.   
  


"Perce? It's Ok, really. I just got a nice long nap in. Kinda like Divination."   
  


Hmm. Nope, still can't move.   
  


You're my brother and everything Perce, and I love you, but eventually, you're gonna have to let me go.   
  


I'm not spending the rest of my Fourth year attatched to you.   
  


Ah. There. He's still got his hands on my shoulders, but at least I can breathe again. Finally. Wonderful thing, really, breathing.   
  


Let's see. Today I've been strangled twice--once by my best friend, once by my older brother.   
  


Percy. Stop. Stop staring at me as if you've never seen me before. Percy. . .   
  


Damn.   
  


If Harry looked knackered, Percy looks. . .   
  


Bad.   
  


Just. . .bad.   
  


He's got these dark circles under his eyes, and he's still paler then usual.   
  


And he *still* won't let go of my robes.   
  


"Percy? Are. . .are you, you know, all right?   
  


His robes are ruined. Brand new, they were, and now he's trashed them from wading into the lake and hugging me.   
  


Heh. He's almost as wet as I am, everything except his hair.   
  


C'mon Perce. Talk to me. You're scaring me.   
  


Please?   
  


Damn.   
  


Damn. Damn. Damn.   
  


Nothing.   
  


That look is creeping back into his eyes: that "Prefect, Head-Boy, Ministry Official" look. That stupid bloody mask he wears all the time, now.   
  


I *hate* it. 

"I'm fine, Ron."   
  


Brrrrr. The wind's picking up.   
  


God, it's cold out here.   
  


"Perce--"   
  


"MR. WEASLEY!"   
  


Damn. I'd give just about anything for Harry's invisibity cloak right now.   
  


Time to get pulverized by Madame Pomfrey.   
  


OW! I thought you were supposed to *heal* people, not dismember them! I like my arm right where it is, thank you very much! Percy already tried to yank it off earlier! I can walk without you tugging me along like a six year old!   
  


Ha Ha, Harry. Glad *you* think this is funny; your best friend being ripped limb from limb by his own brother and the school healer. This is all *your* fault anyway. If you hadn't chosen me. . .   
  


Never mind.   
  


It's still not funny, you prat.   
  


Pepper-up Potion. Lovely. My whole head must look like it just burst into flame. Harry's still smoking. So's Hermoine. The Bulgarian Bozo is hovering around her like some ape. Idiot.   
  


Hmmm. I'm getting a bit famished. I wonder what time it is? I could really go for some steak and kidney pie right now. . .   
  


Well, at least Harry doesn't look irritated anymore. That's good; I hate it when he's angry with me.   
  


Yuck. Why won't he *leave*? Her-mo-ninny, indeed. It's called "English." Learn how to pronounce it correctly, or go home.   
  


On second thought, just go home.   
  


Hmph. I wonder if she realizes that it sounds like her precious *Vicky* is calling her a ninny.   
  


If I called her Her-mo-ninny, she'd probably clout me upside the head with Hogwarts: A History.   
  


Heh. I'll save that one for the next row.   
  


No. I will not fight with Hermoine. Today. I will not mention what an idiot *Vicky* is. I will not care that he's got his hand on her shoulder, that she is the thing in the world he'd miss most. I've only been awake for ten minutes, and I've already managed to irritate Percy and Harry. I will not do *anything* to irritate Her--   
  


OH MY GOD!   
  


Harry, you are one lucky, lucky bastard.   
  


Fleur just like. . .swept in on him. . .and kissed him! BOTH cheeks!   
  


Heh Heh. Boy looks like he just swallowed a whole liter of pepper-up potion. Steam's gonna start coming out of his ears again, soon.   
  


What--   
  


What's she doing *now*?   
  


She isn't--   
  


She IS!   
  


"And you too--you 'elped--"   
  


Helped with what?   
  


Who the bloody hell cares?   
  


*Please, please*   
  


"Yeah, yeah, a bit--"   
  


YES!!!!!   
  


Perfect.   
  


I just got kissed by a *Veela*   
  


Twice.   
  


I really should thank Harry for saving Gabrielle, now.   
  


This is perfect. Absolutely *perfect* Nothing could ruin this moment. . .   
  


Well, hell.   
  


What was *that* for?   
  


If 'Moine's looks could kill there'd be one less Weasley in the world, I can tell you that.   
  


Oy. She hasn't looked at me like that since. . .   
  


The Yule Ball.   
  


What is *with* her these days?   
  


Mad. Barking mad.   
  


Hmph. They should have given Fleur more then twenty-five points. I'd have given her full points just for showing up. Her robe is still wet, and the fabric is really thin. . .   
  


Damn. Diggory just got fourty-seven points. No way Harry's going to beat that, not with what he pulled. Kinda nice, though. Stupid, but nice. I mean, if there *had* been a possibility of any of us dying, it would be nice to know that Harry wouldn't have left anybody. . .   
  


Not like *Vicky* I bet he didn't care. Stupid git. Oh, he only got fourty points. Incomplete Form of Transfiguration, eh? What's he do, transfigure himself a brain?   
  


Eh? What's Bagman saying?   
  


". . .however, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own."   
  


Harry, you moron!   
  


First? You got their FIRST? Before Diggory and Krum! You could have won!   
  


Blimey. You *were* worried.   
  


Stupid Karakoff. Ah, don't like 'moral fiber' do you? There's a shock. . .   
  


YES!!!   
  


All right, Harry!   
  


He did it! He did it! FOURTY-FIVE POINTS!! Take *that* you lousy Bulgarian. . .   
  


He's tied with Diggory for first place!   
  


"There you go, Harry! You weren't being thick at all. . .you were showing moral fiber!"   
  


____________________________________   
  


Blimey. I'm famished. Damn. Still another hour till lunch. All I can taste is Pepper-up potion. . .Madame Pomfrey gave us *more* when she herded us back in the castle. . .some dry clothes, too. That was nice.   
  


Well, thank Merlin. I am not going back in the hospital wing. No way, no how. Not for the rest of the year. I hate that place, and somehow, I always wind up there for some stupid reason or another.   
  


Oh, fine, Hermoine. Just go off with 'Mr. Potential Death-Eater' there. Wants to talk to you, does he? Well, far be it from Harry and me to intrude on your love life. We're only your best friends.   
  


Lousy Krum.   
  


Whew. I feel wiped out. Weeks and weeks of studying--was it just last night that we were still in the library? Hey, that reminds me--   
  


"So how'd you figure out the task, Harry?"   
  


Harry hasn't stopped smiling ever since they announced the scores. Heh, neither have I. First place.That's just bloody brilliant, that is.   
  


"Err--I had a little help."   
  


"Well, I know that, Harry. As a matter of fact, your *help* would love some of those chocolate frogs you've got in your trunk upstairs right now. . ."   
  


"Not you, you git. Dob--"   
  


"Harry Potter, Sir!"   
  


Good God! That little house-elf just about gave me a heart attack!   
  


Crazy little thing, bouncing off the walls. Grinning from ear to ear.   
  


Heh, would you look at that. He's wearing my Christmas sweater.   
  


I hate maroon.   
  


Looks a bit smaller, of course. And I never wore it with a tea cozy on my head. Blimey, I can just imagine what Fred and George's responses would be if I did that. . .   
  


"Harry Potter rescued his Wheezy!"   
  


Rescued his. . .WHAT?   
  


What did that little elf just call me?   
  


"Harry Potter fought off the merpeople? The Gillyweed Dobby found worked, Mr. Harry Potter?"   
  


Whoa, whoa. Back the Hogwarts express up, here.   
  


We spent all those weeks in the library--the *library*, which I hate--researching so much we were half nutters--   
  


And all we had to do was ask *Dobby*?   
  


This is insane. Completely, raving, mad.   
  


That's it, I give up. Absolutely nothing today--not Perce, not Fleur, not Hermoine--has made sense.   
  


Cripes. Neville's probably going to come by and tell us he's getting full marks in potions, or something.   
  


Or Snape's gonna come around the corner and give Dobby here a snog.   
  


Ewwwwwwwwwww.   
  


Yup. I really, really need to learn how to 'Obliviate' myself. Or stop thinking about all teachers, and anything to do with snogging.   
  


Still, this is hilarious. I can't stop laughing. Dobby's just giving me this bewildered little look, and Harry's glaring--but he's got this little grin tugging at the corners of his mouth .   
  


Oh, hell. This is priceless. Ow. Ow. My sides are aching, and I can't breathe, but I still cant' stop laughing.   
  


I wonder when Harry's going to tell Hermoine--   
  


Oh my God. Yes.   
  


Whoa. My head is swimming, and I can't even stand anymore. Harry's laughing now too, probably from watching me land on the bum on the floor of the hall. But I just can't 

stop laughing. This is priceless.   
  


*Hermoine*   
  


I can' wait for this. I can't. Little Miss Know It All didn't know something--but Dobby the House Elf did! Oh, I want to be there when Harry tells her how he figured out how to survive underwater.   
  


It's obvious Dobby thinks we've both gone completely nutters. He just a squeaked a goodbye and fled, probably back towards the kitchen.   
  


Ok, Weasley, breathe. Breathe. You won't get to tease 'Moine if you pass out in the hall on the way to Gryffindor Tower. Plus, it would mean yet *another* trip to the Healers Wing and Miss Pulverizing Pomfrey.   
  


"Harry, Harry. . .we have to find 'Moine. I can't wait to see the look on her face--" Breathe, Weasley. "I can't wait to see the look on her face when you tell her that *Dobby* --"   
  


Damn. There I go again. Can't breathe for about the tenth time today, but I don't care.   
  


Heh. Harry's still chuckling, cleaning his glasses with the corner of his robes.   
  


"Sure. Let's go find her. She's probably done talking with Krum by now."   
  


Stupid Bulgarian twit.   
  


"Where do you think she is?   
  


"She said they were going to talk in the library."   
  


Of course. Where else would Hermoine be?   
  


"C'mon, Harry. . .let's go get her, then get some lunch." 

I hate the library.   
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
